


Tribus Consortio

by Tilly_Venae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, supernatural rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilly_Venae/pseuds/Tilly_Venae
Summary: tribus:latin for three; a group or unit of three people or thingsconsortio:latin for fellowship; a group of persons formally joined together for some common interest(Eventual Dean x OC)Brandie Steele was once quite invested in the hunting life from a young age, traveling alongside her father, Bruce, and occasionally with the Winchester clan. After Brandie's father dies during a hunt she attempts to leave hunting and go back to her hometown after twenty-four years of being in the life.In 2005, a familiar black classic car rolls into town asking for help. Can she face the past she once left behind or will she cower away and hide in her sorrows once again?
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Original Female Character(s)





	Tribus Consortio

[Fort Wayne, IN]  
~October 29, 2005~

Brandie came home smelling like cheap liquor and cigarette smoke, which was a normal occurrence for her on a Saturday night. Even with the no-smoking rule that was placed at the bar, she worked at, what she called 'Stupid drunk fucks.', would keep breaking the rules. She was fed up with how she was often treated there. Getting catcalled, flirted with, smoke blown in her face, asking for hookups, and low tip rates were just a couple of things that would happen to her during a night's work.

She placed her denim jacket on the iron coat rack, hanging it off one of the lower branches, and kicked her black Chuck Taylors off her feet and kicked them gently over to the wall by the console table that was scattered with different pictures of Brandie, her roommate and best friend Laurel, and the few friends they had on it.

Correction, Laurel's friends which Brandie would hang out with sometimes.

Brandie didn't have that many friends of her own besides Laurel. There were two others but she hadn't talked to them much recently. These two were the Winchester boys. Sam, the youngest of the two, would e-mail Brandie with updates of his life at Stanford and her the same back in her hometown of Fort Wayne, Indiana. Calls were often made between the two when neither of them was super busy with school or work.

Then there was Dean. He was a little complicated to talk to at times, especially with the fact that his phone number changes so often it's hard to know what one to text or call. The last number she knew to text was about five phones too late. She had always been closest to the eldest Winchester but there was no communication being made between the two lately.

For growing up with these boys you'd think they'd still be super close.

Well, they were, but there just wasn't much communication as there should be.

Even though Brandie had a thick-ish pair of socks on her feet, the wood flooring felt frozen, she hurried into her room and let out a small breath as she stepped foot on the old shag carpeting that covered the floor of both the living room and bedrooms in the home.

Brandie's room was pretty plain, decoration wise. It's few decorations were a calendar, a corkboard with a few postcards that she had collected over the years pinned on it, some pictures of past friends and Laurel scattered around on the wall, and a few band posters. On the back wall stood her full-size bed, a black nightstand, and a dresser next to the door with her makeup and a mirror sitting on top of it.

A combo stereo could be found sitting in the corner of the room with a small shelf scattered with piles upon piles of CDs and cassettes, little nicknacks, and a plant or two resting on it. A box of vinyl records was somewhere nearby starting to collect dust since they hadn't been played in quite some time.

To some, it wasn't much. But it felt like a lot for Brandie, not really having much to call her own. Growing up in the shadow of a hunter meant moving around a lot, staying in motel rooms and the back of her Father's Jeep some nights. Luckily she couldn't remember much of the hard times that her father and herself went through after her mother died when she was about to turn two.

She tossed her bag on her bed and walked over to her stack of records in the corner looking through them trying to decide on what one to listen to. She brushed her long auburn hair behind her ear with her hand so that it wouldn't fall in her face as she flipped through the cardboard box that they were sitting in. A Fleetwood Mac record caught her eye, so she chose that one for the meanwhile.

She took it out of the sleeve carefully since it was old and placed it onto the record table. She started out playing Rhiannon which was a personal favorite of hers. She laid on her bed, staring at the ceiling which she had decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars to mimic the night sky. It kinda worked but instead of the small glowing white dots in the sky, they were big plastic cut-outs that were a lighter shade of neon green that was blu-tacked to the ceiling.

About halfway through the song, she heard a loud ruckus outside her window. She shot up out of bed, nervous that it was a robber or something like that. Of course, it could have just been a raccoon or another type of animal.

It was pitch black out so that was the most probable option. But the darkness of the night often made it easy to hide. Brandie decided her best option was just to go see what the noise was, so she got up and shut off her turntable leaving the next song to wait to be used until the next time the record would be played, whenever that would be.

She made her way over to her nightstand, pulling the top drawer out revealing a bunch of junk like birthday cards, stray strips of spearmint chewing gum, and a small knife. She drifted her eyes over to a silver pistol. Specifically, a Colt Defender SS, which had once belonged to her father.

As soon as the gun was firmly gripped in her right hand, she quietly bolted over to the door and made her way over to the noise outside, making sure to close the creaky front door behind her.

Brandie was careful where she stepped, making sure that she wouldn't step on any crunchy leaves, the only barrier between her feet and the ground were her bright red fuzzy socks which were collecting an abundance of burrs, dirt, and dead grass.

Turning the corner to see what was by the trash cans brought chills down Brandie's spine. Things like this usually wouldn't scare her, but if it was something lethal she was out of practice in defending herself. "It's probably just a raccoon." She told herself quietly. "Yeah, that's what it is. Just a stupid trash panda." She held her gun down, and slowly stepped around the corner, getting ready to turn on her flashlight.

She heard a deepish grunt after what sounded like something falling onto a pile of dead leaves. "Aw, fuck."

The voice was familiar, one she hadn't heard in a few years. Two at least. Brandie furrowed an eyebrow and flashed her light over on the wall, and turned the corner. She held her gun up just in case it wasn't who she thought it was. "Dean?" She spoke in just above a whisper.

The flashlight revealed a man with cropped brown hair and dressed in a weathered leather jacket, jeans, logger boots, and a T-shirt. He rubbed his head some and turned around to face Brandie.

"Hey, Bea." Dean greeted with a smug smile on his face. He looked down at the gun in her hands, and the smile dropped from his face and became his normal sort of expression. "Well, that's not a very nice way to make an impression on a guest." he picked a yellow and red leaf out of his hair and inspected it quickly before he let it drift to the ground.

"Goddammit Dean, you scared me shitless." Brandie groaned as she lowered her gun and put it back in the butt of her jeans and dusted off her hands on her lap. "Y'know, you could've just knocked." She pointed over her shoulder.

"Oh, well, what's the fun in that?" Dean asked giving off his normal playful expression that Brandie far too well.

She let out a short sigh and lightly chuckled. "Just, come in." she waved him over. "So, why are you here? I'd think you'd at least call."

"Element of surprise. And it's an emergency. I was in New Orleans and well, here was closer than my next stop."

"What happened?" Brandie stopped in her tracks as she opened up the front door.

Dean took a step inside the house, and Brandie followed suit, closing and locking the door behind her. "My dad is missing," he said honestly.

"Ok, and when I hunted with you guys in the past, he went missing all the time. He came back eventually, perfectly fine besides like a few scratches." Brandie took off her fuzzy socks and placed the flashlight and gun on the console table. "What's different this time?" She quizzed him as she sat on the blue and white striped sofa that occupied the living room. She patted the spot next to her, signaling Dean to sit there.

He rested on an old corduroy recliner instead of where Brandie insisted. He folded his hands together and rocked back and forth slightly on it. "He hasn't been answering calls or texts."

"As I said, he's probably just caught up in what he's doing and forgot to call you back."

"It's been three weeks, Brandie," Dean stated a hint of what sounded like a loss in his voice.

A week or week and a half was nothing to worry about in John Winchester's terms, but three? Maybe that was something to be concerned about.

"Shit." Brandie cursed under her breath. "So what I'm getting from this, is that you want me to help you find him." she tilted her head slightly.

"Exactly." Dean nodded, looking over at Brandie. "So, you're gonna come?" Dean asked trying not to sound hopeful about the situation.

She thought about it, hesitating for a second. "I'll call my employers. How long do you think this is gonna take?" She wondered out loud as she walked over to the landline.


End file.
